All of My Weird Shortcomings in One Place
Let me make you feel better about your life.
On the surface, I look like I have my life together. I can pose as a functional adult in most social settings. My biggest accomplishment in life is that in the 5,769 days that my child has been on this Earth, I have never once left her somewhere. No pet has been lost under my watch.
I see a lot of people carrying shame about their lives. There’s a lot of pressure to have some kind of weird flawless existence that no one really has. We look at other people’s lives with envy. We see posts on social media that make simple existences seem glamorous. We want to keep up. Let’s not do that, okay?
In the spirit of lifting each other up as humans, I thought I would throw some vulnerability out there to let you know that if you whatever makes you feel like you are not winning at life is just fine. No one is perfect. We all fail in the most fantastic ways.
None of my shortcomings are Earth shattering. No one is going to die because of them. They will not land me in jail. But they are so very real and instead of feeling bad about them, I figured I would let others feel better. Why? Because you have weird short comings, too.
I frequently have to buy new towels.
Something weird happens in my laundry room. It only happens with towels. I suffer from a strange form of domestic amnesia. At least once every two months, I completely forget that I washed towels. For about a week. I sort all of my laundry on a nice, crisp Saturday morning, go to stick the first load in the wash and that’s when horror hits.
There is nothing more unholy than the realization that the towels you washed last Sunday are still in the washing machine. Not the dryer. The damn washer where mold has now grown on them. There is nothing that can fix this.
I could host an entire marching band car wash fundraiser in my driveway and every single kid could have their own towel with which to dry a car. Towels are $8 a piece at Marshall’s. They nice but I have spent about $150 on new towels this year because I’m a damn idiot.
I am incapable of properly storing pots and pans.
You remember those fake peanut cans where you’d open them and a spring loaded snake thing would pop out? This is my pots and pans cabinet. I open it and it’s a veritable avalanche of stainless steel, a cast ion and Teflon.
It would take me ten minutes to pull everything out and organize it so this does not happen. Nope. Never happens. I just repeatedly open that cabinet, jump aside, curse and them shove everything back inside so I don’t have to think about it until the next time I have to make food. This is usually some time in the next few hours. Twice a day, every day I go through this process. I never learn.
I have killed the same plant three times.
I have a pot on my patio that is barren. It needs love. All my other pots are lovely. They are filled with beautiful succulents or trailing vines.
Twice in the last month, I have gone to Home Depot and bought the same plant, put it on my patio, told myself I was going to plant it and then left it to die a slow miserable death. Twice.
I understand this, as well, would take me ten minutes. For the love of God, all I really need to do is give it water to keep it alive for just a few more days. Nope. It just dies in its little container on my patio. What’s worse? I look at that plant three times a day when I let my dog out. It’s like I’m intentionally being cruel to plant life.
Five percent of my living room isn’t painted.
I used to have a really big, heavy, tube TV. Give me a break, people. I was holding out in hopes of getting some kind of reward for being the last person on the planet with one of these monstrosities.
The problem is that when I painted my living room, it was too heavy for me to move by myself. So I painted as far back as I could reach. This is laziness at its peak. Everything would have been fine had I not gotten a new TV. Now, a good section of my living room is just a totally different color. It’s been like this for almost five years. Five.
I buy tropical fruits I never eat.
I live in Arizona where we have patio weather in December. I have visions of me lounging by my pool in the dead of winter, with a plate of tropical fruits and a carafe of strong coffee like I’m on some fancy Mexican vacation and room service made all this magically appear.
The reality is that I buy these fruits and they sit on my counter. For a long time. So long that when I throw them away, I can barely distinguish whether they were ever a papaya or a mango. They could actually pass as an avocado. It’s hard to tell.
I feel no sharing this with you. Maybe I should. Maybe I should spend the rest of my morning organizing my pots and pans. But, I’m going to go make a Bloody Mary instead. Then I may go to Home Depot and buy a third plant of the same species to kill. It’s anyone’s guess.
Cut yourself some slack. Liberate yourself. Know that you’re not perfect and people like you for it. Even if you choose to hide those weird short comings, people know they’re there. We’re all human. It happens. Of course, I’d love it if you share your weird failures because I can guarantee you’d feel just a skosh better. And you’d make me smile.